What Would Jesus?
by Broadwaypoetess
Summary: Jesus is hounded by reporters. Very late Easter present for all the rockin' Catholic JCS fans... even though this has nothing to do with Catholicism. Based on JCS 2000 film. PG for like... swearing and stuff.


_Disclaimer: Haven't written JCS in a while. Haven't written stupid humor in a while. I actually wrote this a while ago. It was supposed to be an Easter present to all the rockin' Catholics out there that went through Lent. Apparently only Catholics have to fast and all that... and this means liberal bitches like me as well (grumbles). I tried to fast for Lent. That didn't work. So, naturally, my Protestant friends were like "See, we just celebrate Lent..."_

How would one celebrate it?  


_Well, this is an informative disclaimer._

_Rating: PG because Simon Z has a potty mouth._

_Based on the film with Tony Vincent and everyone else. Though the US tour kicks ass… go Rocky Rodriguez as Annas. Hottest man alive! …right after Tony. Rocky emailed me once. (SWOON)  
_

**What Would Jesus….?**

"Jesus… Jesus… Jesus!"

He opened his eyes. Disturbance. It was a sweet moment of perfect mediation, one of those brief times where all thought slipped away and he could speak with his Father. He hadn't been able to achieve it lately, but it came so easily when he was a child. Sit in a quiet room, and He speaks to you. And there is immeasurable contentment.

"Yes?" he responded, trying to keep his voice even.

"I'm sorry…" Mary Magdalene whispered meekly as she stood in his doorway, "but there's some… reporters here to see you…"

"Don't apologize, you did nothing wrong," he slowly got up off the floor and hugged her, "Have they been waiting for a long time?"

She brushed her dark curls back behind her ear, "Only for fifteen minutes. I assumed you didn't want to be bothered. You've been mediating a lot."

"I know."

"Something wrong?" She began to stroke his cheek.

"What do they want?"

Mary sighed.

"To talk to you. Marketing, I suppose. Kosher hot dogs, SUVs, contraception, thongs…"

"Thongs? Like… thong sandals and flip-flops? Or…?"

She shrugged.

"Very well. I'll talk to them."

He opened the door and in a flash he was blinded by cameras flashing and bombarded with questions and the reporters shoved themselves in.

"Jesus, darling! Beautiful home!"

"Penthouse, eh, eh! Am I right?"

They proceeded to surround him; he took a deep breath and tried to quiet his nerves.

"Who's this pretty lady?"

"Maid?"

"Secretary?"

"Landlord?"

"Paramour?"

"Nice one, Zeke! What a catch, am I right, JC?"

"Well actually…" Jesus began.

"Turn up the sound, Mike!"

"She owns the penthouse. I'm living here, with her—"

The reporters quickly rummaged through their purses and coat pockets for their notebooks and began to furiously scribble.

"Way to go! Am I right?"

"Actually, we're friends. And most of the Twelve stay with us, or live around here. Judas lives next door…" Jesus looked around to ask Mary about the history of the building, only to find her sulking off to where the Apostles were playing video games in the den.

"Oh, do tell us the history of this building!" one of female reporters gushed in the back of the group.

"Er, well about 100 years ago this was a very elegant hotel, much like the Ritz or Plaza. Then inflation and, well, Roman influence took over. This was actually a bunch of suites; Mary just fixed most of the locks. Like I said, Judas lives next door. He drops by occasionally…"

The reporters returned to their scribbling.

"Er… would you like something to drink? We have… uhmn…" he walked into the kitchen only to by hounded by the reporters. His stomach churned and he began to feel sick. He poured himself a glass of apple juice and sat on the counter.

"Er… help yourself… but we're kinda low on milk. I'll pick some up tomorrow."

Suddenly, Simon Zealotes burst in.

"I just KICKED Pete's ASS! Ha! Go me! Go me!"

Jesus smiled, _Some normalcy. _"What happened?"

"Kicked his ASS in Halo! Oh man, you should've seen the playing field, totally drenched in blood. It was me, Judas, and Pete against everyone else. Johnny was out in about five minutes: he can't play FOR SHIT! Mary was all like, _Guys, I can't believe you like this game…_Oh! Oh! Then it was me, Pete, and Judas all against each other. Judas SO tried to screw me over, pretending that he was going join me and bring Pete down. Then he got into a warthog, I was invisible and kicked HIS ass instead! Wow…" Simon grinned to himself, basking in his moment of bloody glory.

"So, you promote violent video games, Christ?" one of them smirked.

"Er, no… the guys just like them. They're challenging. Have a lot of strategy."

"So, you encourage games where the characters steal cars and attack hookers?"

"By all that I hold dear, no! The games they play are like… war games…" his voice trailed off.

"You believe in the Zealot cause!" another gasped.

Simon stared at Jesus, turned to the group of reporters, and back to him,

"What the hell is going on here?"

"They're questioning me… they came into the kitchen for a drink, I guess," Jesus mumbled.

"I'll get some glasses!" Simon grinned brightly, but Jesus thought he heard him mutter "totalitarian pigs" after he set the glasses down and went back into the den.

He closed his eyes for a moment, and there was a pleasant silence as he sipped his juice until he heard it.

"Howzabout this! What would Jesus…drive? Eh, eh, pretty nice, huh? Tell me, Christ, what's your favorite kinda automobile, eh?"

"Er…"

"Pontiac Bonneville?"

"Chrysler Sebring?"

"A Dodge Caravan?"

"Jaguar?"

"Mercedes?"

"Er… I don't…" he began.

"Environmentally friendly?"

"Volkswagen Beetle?"

"Hybrids?"

"Er… I don't…" he started, a little louder.

"C'mon Jesus, what's your favorite kinda car?"

"I ride my bike. Or walk," he shrugged.

"Bike as in motorcycle…?"

"Bicycle," he said firmly.

"What speed?"

"It's just a bike!" he cried exasperatedly, "Bought it at a garage sale when my old one got really rusty. I forgot to take it in one night."

"What do you use to get rid of rust?"

"Er… I don't. The bike was totally brown… it's like the oxygen and all the chemistry involved ate it."

"What do you use to get rid of tough stains?"

"Uh… whatever cleaner we have?" Jesus yawned widely.

"Boy, those are some teeth…"

Jesus quickly closed his mouth, "My… my teeth?"

"What kind of toothbrush do you use?"

"What kind of toothpaste?"

"Crest!"

"Oral B!"

"Colgate!"

"Aquafresh!"

"Rembrandt!"

"Oh, whatever toothbrush my dentist gives me. Whatever toothpaste we have. Sometimes… freebie hotel ones…" he licked his front teeth. He forgot to brush this morning.

"Who's your dentist?"

"The one that does Herod's?"

"Pilate's?"

"The Sanhedrin's?"

"Salome's?"

Jesus winced.

"Oh, no, just the dentist down the street. Diamond. She's great."

"Any sparks?"

"Like… equipment malfunctioning…?" he yawned again.

"Something like that," the reporter by the refrigerator grinned.

"Well, no…" he then realized, "No! Oh my… no! She's married!"

The reporters all laughed and began taking more notes.

"What are you planning on having for lunch?"

"Low carb?"

"All protein?"

"All fiber?"

"The Seafood Diet?"

"The No-Food-Exercise Diet?"

"The Vomit Diet? That's a big one with Salome!"

"Eating disorders?" Jesus muttered, eyebrows raised.

"So, what do you plan on eating?"

"Uh… well, leftover pizza."

"Dominoes?"

"Papa Johns?"

"Pizza Hut?"

"Er, Pizza Hut actually. John likes it. I like it too. It's soft and then after a few days it toughens a little…"

"So, you're saying you like Pizza Hut?"

"Willing to do a commercial?"

"You're saying you like soft things?"

"Or tough things?"

"Or greasy things?"

"Oh, I just like Pizza Hut…" he opened the box and tried to find a piece he could easily shove into his mouth without choking, and be able to chew on it long enough to the keep the questions at bay.

"What do you normally get on your pizza?"

"Oh, uh…" he quickly began to think of every topping imaginable on a pizza, " Well, pepperoni and green peppers, mushrooms, olives, chives. Er, sometimes sausage. I like mushrooms, pepperoni, and onions. All kosher products though. Hate pineapple. Fruit and pizza shouldn't mix. Least I don't think so… uh. Ever dunk the crust in milk? That's great, especially after it toughens. Then in softens in the microwave, in the milk. Uh… ever have that stuffed crust? It's like mozzarella sticks and pizza together…"

He was finding it oddly hard to breathe, but he found an appropriate slice of pizza and squeezed past the few crowding the microwave, "Moz sticks have to be one of the greatest Roman achievements. Something that everyone can really benefit from. I mean, who else could've dreamed up the idea of putting breading around cheese and serving it up really hot with tomato sauce?"

Jesus stared at the pizza in the microwave, trying to block them all out. And now he had a moz stick craving.

"So, how do you feel about our Roman occupation? I noticed one of your followers had the Zealot cross insignia."

"Yeah… how about that?" Jesus quickly opened up the microwave door and stuffed half of the piece into his mouth, trying to ignore the grease that was almost bubbling. He let out a few disjointed syllables, which seemed to satisfy the reporters as they jotted down in their notes.

He finished most of the slice a bit too soon and tried to dunk the crust as slowly as humanly possible in his milk.

"So, Jesus…"

Hastily he shoveled in the rest of the crust and guzzled the milk.

"… how do you feel about abortion and homosexual marriage?"

The crust slid down his esophagus at the wrong time.

"Jesus! I'm returning your hairdryer! Hey—"

In a flash of unbridled Iscariot manliness, Judas performed the Heimlich maneuver and the pizza crust that had helped Jesus elude the scheming reporters shot out of Christ's wonderful mouth and hit the refrigerator with a _splat_.

Jesus blinked and coughed for a few moments, briefly wondering what had just happened.

"Uh, Judas? Please get your arms and hands… uh… off."

"Well, now, there goes the gay marriage question!" one of the reporters declared in a huff while the females began to sigh dejectedly.

"Jesus, can we ask you about your wardrobe?"

"Jesus, who's your friend?"

"Armani?"

"How long have you been together?"

"Abercrombie?"

"Is he… married?"

"Dentist! Ha! Am I right?"

"JC Penney?"

"Does he have any other friends?"

"Macy's?"

Jesus frantically ran his fingers through his curls; claustrophobia was sinking in.

"Did you meet at the Temple?"

"Do you shop at the Temple?"

He went rigid and the corners of his mouth twitched.

"Get. Out."

"Is that _get out_ like _leave_ or _get out, you slept with DeNiro_?"

Jesus's blue eyes flashed dangerously and he grabbed the nearest bottle of Corona off the countertop.

------

Fifteen minutes later Jesus was happily listening to Tibetan music in his room and finishing his Corona.

"Was the raining of fire from the ceiling really necessary?"

"Yes, Mary, yes it was."

"Will insurance cover the damage?"

"God only knows."

"…damn."

------------------------------------------------------------------------

_EL FIN._

_There was actually something that inspired this, and not those WWJD? bracelets. It was this article about evangelists in the media, and there was, apparently, and ad campaign called "What Would Jesus Drive?" I, naturally, said, "Jesus doesn't have a car! He has a bike-- stupid!... wait..."_

Yeah.

Normalcy is a silly word.

... thong.  



End file.
